


The Space Your Body Occupies

by Aris Merquoni (ArisTGD)



Category: Banlieue 13 (2004)
Genre: First movie canon only, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-02
Updated: 2008-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-07 01:03:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArisTGD/pseuds/Aris%20Merquoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neither Leito nor Damien can grab ahold of each other. Touching at all is a matter of crossing an immense distance. Freedom of movement is everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Space Your Body Occupies

Two days after the wall around Barrio 13 dropped, there was a knock on Damien's window. When he pulled the curtain back, the soft white clouds and Paris skyline framed Leito, cargo pants and black tank top, fluffy black hair and impish grin.

"Took you long enough," Damien said, opening the window.

Leito swung his legs over the sill, almost floating to the floor. Damien spared a glance at the eighteen-story drop on the other side before shutting the sash.

"So when are you coming to visit?" Leito said, drifting across the carpet to the table in the corner where Damien had his work spread out. Damien sighed, crossed in front of him, gathered his paperwork and shut the folder. Leito raised his eyebrows.

"Soon," Damien said. "I'm coming soon."

Leito smirked.

Damien put his work papers away and watched Leito out of the corner of his eye. He moved gracefully but methodically through the rooms of Damien's apartment, one corner to another, craning his neck to see hanging pipes, ceilings. The space his body occupied seemed fluid, like thick smoke; try to touch it and he'd be gone, and there you'd be, grasping air.

"Have any plans for the night?" Leito asked, reaching up to grab the lintel of Damien's bedroom door, hanging there suspended for a moment midstep.

Damien locked his desk, slipped the key into his pocket. "I was going down to the dojo, to train," he said. "For a couple hours. Other than that? No." He looked up, at Leito, hanging halfway to the sky. "No plans."

* * *

Leito watched from the sidelines, at the dojo, uninterested in participating; he'd learned fighting on the street, where escape was as important as connection. The rules and rituals that Damien and the other men followed were stilted, formal; frustrating, more often than not. Clashes were settled with twisted arms, one or the other of the pair locked into immobility.

More often than not, Damien won.

He fought in his undershirt and pants and not a uniform, like some of the others; from listening, Leito gathered that the participants came from various traditions and fought here to learn from each other. He could see it, in Damien's stances, moving from one style of action to another like water, twisting around his opponents and throwing them down with the fury of a roaring river. If they grabbed him in one place, he'd flow around them and find the weak point to break their hold.

It was almost terrifying, that power; mesmerizing, to think about being caught in it. Leito flinched from the feeling, shook his head to clear it. He was here on his terms, not Damien's; he wouldn't let himself be trapped and dropped, a microcosm of the barrio.

He watched Damien leave the mat, drop into a chair next to his bag and drape a towel around his neck, like a prizefighter, sheened in sweat. "Impressive."

"Hard work," Damien said. He dug water out of his bag, squeezed half the bottle down his throat in one go. "Discipline."

Leito snorted. "Most of them, their pretty moves wouldn't last five minutes in the barrio."

Damien grinned. "Good thing they found the crazy sonofabitch who could, then, huh?"

"Two crazy sons of bitches," Leito conceded. And then, because Damien sitting still was far harder to read than Damien moving, he asked, "They teach you how to dance in that cop school, too?"

Damien raised his eyebrows. "You want to go to a club?"

"Yeah." Leito nodded. "You know someplace?"

"Yeah." Damien smirked. "I know a few I haven't broken yet."

* * *

Damien hadn't known that Leito knew how to dance.

He hadn't given it any thought, really. The barrio wasn't a place where teenagers snuck out for late nights of music and cigarettes, was it? But Leito had his shirt half-open and his hands above his head, body curling in the hand of the beat, visible in the momentary windows of the crowd.

Damien knew a few things about dancing, but he wasn't Leito.

He closed his eyes and tried to relax, let his shoulders dip in time, his neck and spine curve like he was aching for the hot sweaty air itself to caress him, for the lights to trace patterns down his skin. Dance like you want something, he'd always believed. Dance like you want it all.

"You weren't planning to visit, were you?" a voice murmured in his ear.

Damien started, turned to see Leito, shirt all the way open now, a black border framing the ink on his skin and the intense look in his eyes. "What do you mean?" he said.

"I saw the notes; you're planning on going undercover again."

"That's the job." Leito hadn't stopped moving, shifting in time with the press of bodies all around them. "Some asshole thinks he can break the rules, this asshole has to stop them."

"But you'll leave without saying goodbye."

"What is this, you want a postcard?" He reached out to tweak Leito's shirt, jerk him around a little. Then the crowd surged behind him, and Leito stepped forward, and then their lips were together and Leito's mouth was hot on his pressing him open, passionate, tongue licking along his teeth. He clenched his fist in the fabric of Leito's shirt, desperate not to let go.

Leito pulled back, stared at him, panting slightly. "Not too cool then, cop," he said. "Your apartment?" His mouth struggled to paint his normal smile, came up one breath too short. "Race you."

And then he turned and wriggled through the crowd, leaving Damien holding his empty shirt, watching him disappear in a moment. He stared for an extra second before turning and running for his car.

He was it two steps into his apartment when Leito grabbed him and pressed close to take another kiss. Damien tried to wrap his arms around Leito's waist, pull him close, and Leito slipped away to hug him from behind, molding their hips together and pressing hot breath into his neck. It was like trying to kiss smoke. He swiveled, palms pressing up along Leito's chest, rubbing sweat into his undershirt, pushing him back toward the desk in the corner.

It almost worked. Or maybe he just hoped it would. Leito sprang backwards as soon as Damien started pushing, landed on the desk and then vaulted off the wall to land behind Damien again, almost too quick to follow. This time, when Damien turned to face him, he yanked Damien's shirt up over his head.

It took him a second to struggle out of it but it was long enough for Leito to dance back into the kitchen, and he followed, feeling like a baited bear, clumsy and awkward in his own space.

"Planning on making breakfast?" he asked, bracing himself on the doorway. "Getting ahead of yourself."

Leito grinned, shifted his weight from foot to foot. "No thanks," he said. "I'll just have some cream." Fast as thought he ran his hands along Damien's arms, planted his hands down over Damien's fingers, holding him in place while he pushed forward with his hips, torso, mouth. Licked alongside Damien's jaw, nipped at his neck. Damien thrust his leg out, tried to wrap around Leito's--slipped upwards and cocked around Leito's hip, was knocked aside and off balance. Leito slipped under the sudden space in his arm and tugged his belt to make him follow.

With a lunge, Damien sprung and overbalanced him, and they slid along the linoleum floor into the doorway to his bedroom. He pressed his hands against Leito's hips and bent down to lick one exposed hipbone; Leito wriggled under him, smelling and tasting of sweat, arousal.

Leito's legs came up under his armpits, and suddenly Damien was thrown up, forward, face-to-face with Leito for a moment before being flipped over onto his back, Leito astride him and grinding back into his cock. Carpet prickled into his shoulders. Leito was staring down at him, eyes intense, mouth slightly open, breathing hard.

"Okay," Damien said, relaxing and letting his hands rest on the carpet beside Leito's knees. "You got me."

Leito grinned, Damien grabbed him by the waist and threw him aside, and they rolled, Leito's legs locked around him, until they hit the wall and broke apart, scrambling to their feet. Leito backed away into the bathroom, panting; Damien followed, weaving from side to side.

He darted forward, trying to trap Leito in the smaller space, when Leito grabbed him bodily and threw them both sideways--they stumbled into the shower, and Damien flailed out and hit the tap.

Icy water suddenly cascaded down over them, and Leito gasped in shock and let go, and Damien grabbed him and kissed him kissed him kissed him, pulling him close to keep him warm.

Leito shuddered against him for a moment, then as the water started to warm his fingers traced rivulets down Damien's back, around to his fly, undoing his belt and unfastening his pants.

"You know, I've been wondering," Leito panted conversationally as Damien threaded his fingers through his hair, "if you shave everywhere." He groped Damien's cock through his briefs. Damien laughed, sputtered a "fuck you" into Leito's forehead.

Leito grinned as Damien pulled his undershirt up, sticky and waterlogged. "You're such a girl."

"So suck my cock," Damien retorted, finally getting the shirt off him. Leito laughed, then leaned forward to nibble on Damien's collarbone, water sheeting down his naked back and making his tattoos glisten. Damien yanked angrily at Leito's pants, peeling fabric off wet skin. And then he was frustrated, furious, and after a few more angry motions they were both naked, or mostly, drenched and ungainly and reduced to collapsing against each other, pawing and thrusting and biting as the water turned to steam and Damien thought he might have yelled "Don't FUCKING leave" before he came.

Leito's hand was on his hip; their foreheads were touching. When he looked up, all Damien could see was the darkness in his eyes. "Fuck," Leito whispered. "I wouldn't."

The shower hissed down like rain, warm as piss; Damien closed his eyes again. "Wouldn't what?"

"Leave, asshole. That's your thing."

"My shoes are fucking soaked." He leaned back against the wall, away from Leito, tugged them off; it was awkward with his pants around his ankles. "What do you mean I leave?"

Leito sighed, reached out and turned off the shower. Damien got his pants the rest of the way off and sat down next to the drain, resettled himself when Leito sat down next to him. "Just visit, okay? Before you go undercover, when you get back?"

Damien looked up at him. Leito had his arms looped around his knees, head turned, waiting patiently for his answer. Clearly expecting him to bail out.

"'Course I'll visit," Damien said. "You came all over my shower, asshole. I'm not letting you go."

Leito hit him, and smirked, but after that he didn't run.


End file.
